


Every Rose Has Its Thorns

by AI07



Series: Company of Outlaws, Family of In-laws [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: A Sympathetic Jerk, All Over Rivendell, And Loving, Betting, Braids, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarves Being Dirty, Elrond Is Amused, Elrond May Or May Not Ship Dwarves, Embarrassed Lindir, Fíli and Kíli Are Actually Wiser Than We Think, Gandalf Isn't Helping, Khuzdul, Kissing, Library Loving, Lindir Ain't Got Time To Remember Their Names, Lindir Freaks Outs, Lindir Is A Jerk, Lindir May Or May Not Be Going Mad, M/M, Nicknames, Planting More Than Flowers, Sindarin, Slight whumpage, Wine Cellar Raid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 02:05:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2410970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AI07/pseuds/AI07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First they trooped into Rivendell, slovenly and foul-mouthed and just altogether Dwarvish. Then it was the disastrous dinner, where he had to stand back and watch as they threw food all over the place (and nearly at his head). Then they had the gall to desecrate one of the fountains by bathing in it!</p><p>But now? Now he has to contend with these Dwarves committing acts of debauchery, finding them in all sorts of compromising positions from the library to the wine cellars?</p><p>What did Lindir ever do to deserve this?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Rose Has Its Thorns

**Author's Note:**

> When I was writing Chapter 3 of my story, "Matchmaker", dear Lindir caught two Dwarves doing the deed. Now, hot off the heels of writing "Hobbit Hole Haven Dot Net", I, still in a slashy and wee bit smutty mood, I decided to expand on that particular scene, with some added pairings. And torment Lindir while I'm at it. On a Sunday. I am terrible.
> 
> Khuzdûl and Sindarin are written in italics. Enjoy! :)

To say that Lindir was a pedantic Elf was a  _complete_ understatement. But, in Lindir's opinion, there was nothing wrong with that.

Indeed, he prided himself on his meticulous, precise nature, one which others would see as "finicky" or "fussy" or even "priggish". It had always been the Elf's way, and neither he nor his fellow kin suffered because of it. Rather, it was his  prized asset, one which, he privately thought, gained him the position of Lord Elrond Half-Elven's counsellor-cum-assistant. It was a most prestigious position, one which suited Lindir perfectly. After all, who better than he to aid in matters over which the Master of Rivendell presided, matters that required a pedantic mind to look into?

So yes, Lindir was quite content with his "pedantic-ness".

But the Elf soon found his punctilious personality to be _severely_ tested when those Dwarves and that Hobbit arrived.

The arrival of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, brought to the doorstep of his master's home by Mithrandir … well, Lindir was not exactly ecstatic about it, if the truth be told. And his liking for them, if he had any to begin with (which was unlikely), decreased by ten-fold as these foul creatures tormented him with their antics.

How disgraceful, he thought, when that hat-wearing Dwarf stood up and sang a song – a _drinking_ song, of all things! – whilst his companions threw their food all over the place. _What a waste!_ And that beardless Dwarf, whom he had seen flirting with the harpist earlier ( _Scand_ _a_ _lous!_ ), had the gall to throw a piece of food in his direction! He missed, thank goodness, but still! Honestly, Lindir felt as if the food was prepared for nothing, and it was extremely annoying.

And oh, when the Dwarves, minus Thorin and the Hobbit, decided to bathe in the fountains – in all of his immortal years, Lindir felt he would never forget the image of _hairy, naked Dwarve_ _s_ performing this very distasteful, indecent and altogether disrespectful act. It almost made him cry, for goodness sake!

He had voiced these thoughts clearly to Elrond, hoping that the other Elf would do something about these Dwarves and their wretched behaviours. After all, they were guests in their home, and guests should act accordingly in their host's home.

But Elrond had waved a dismissive hand, saying, "You worry yourself too much, Lindir. You shouldn't let their actions get to you. You'll only cause yourself needless anxiety."

"But my lord –"

"They will not be staying forever, my friend," Elrond had said in an aggravatingly calm manner. "If you can tolerate them for a little while longer, then their stay will go by quicker. Now do chin up, Lindir, and give them a chance. Thorin Oakenshield's lot seem respectable enough, once you get to know them."

As far as his assistant was concerned, however, he did not want to get to know them. Not at all, thank you very much.

_Still_ , Lindir grimly thought to himself,  _I suppose they will tone down their … Dwarvishness, as the days go by. I can only hope for my sanity that nothing untoward will occur in the meantime._

* * *

But then the library incident happened.

It began when Lord Elrond asked Lindir to escort one of the Dwarves to the library. He was, the raven-haired Elf explained, the scribe of the Company who was very interested in literature, hoping to read over some Sindarin scripts, if he was allowed.

Lindir cast a disapproving eye at the young Dwarf. Freckly, short-haired and bright-eyed, clutching a tatty-looking journal in his mitten-covered hands. The one whom the silver-haired Dwarf constantly fussed over, if the Elf recalled correctly. Ah yes, this one would not pose a threat to the treasures that lay within the library.

He led the Dwarf to the library without a word – as much as this Dwarf was harmless, the Elf did not wish to pursue communication with him. He just wanted to take the scribe – "Freckles", in Lindir's mind, he did not bother to learn these wretched Dwarves' names – to the library and go about his duties. Why Elrond had to assign such an errand to him, he could not fathom.

But when they did arrive, when Freckles cast an excited eye over the shelves of literature ( _ **too**_ _over-excited,_ the Elf thought), Lindir curtly said, "Be careful when you handle these texts. They are most precious. We don't let just _anyone_ set eyes on them, let alone read its contents."

Freckles did not register the Elf's pointed tone, for he enthusiastically said, "I shall take utmost care. I can't wait to get my hands on one of these books! Thank you very much for bringing me here, Mister Lindir."

Lindir gave the scribe a none-too-genuine smile before abruptly turning on his heels and exiting the library, wanting to put as much distance between him and the Dwarf as much as possible.

_ I swear, this is far beneath me, escorting one of Thorin Oakenshield's lot around … _

So caught up in his bitter thoughts, that he nearly missed the bald, tattooed Dwarf moving past him _towards_ the library.

Lindir stopped, slowly turning his head around.

Yes, his eyes were not deceiving him. It _was_ the bald, tattooed Dwarf, Oakenshield's lieutenant with the pieces of metal shaped over his knuckles and an altogether menacing air about him.

And he was walking towards the library? With those weapons attached to his hands? Weapons which could cause untold damage to the books?

The very thought made Lindir want to faint.

The sound of the library's doors opening and subsequently closing behind Knuckles' back brought Lindir back to reality. With a dull feeling stirring in the pit of his stomach, he quickly trotted over to the library entrance, waiting outside it for a full minute. Then, pulling the doors open, he quietly, surreptitiously, walked in.

The Elf hid behind a shelf. He was going to bide his time: after all, if Knuckles was going to lay damage into any written material, he wanted some proof to show Elrond.

_ Then Lord Elrond will know that I am not purposefully causing myself anxiety! _

The voices of the Dwarves interrupted his thoughts.

"– shouldn't be in here, Mister Dwalin." The soft yet worried voice of Freckles.

"Couldn't wait any longer, Ori. The one chance we have to be out of your brother's sight …" The gruff, almost purring ( _Purring?_ ) voice of Knuckles.

A giggle. "He will not be pleased when he finds out about this."

A chuckle. "Who shall be tellin' him? Certainly not me. Besides …"

Lindir could hear a shuffle of movement, followed by a yelp (Freckles) and a resounding  _bang!_ on what seemed  to be a hard surface.  _Good grief, what are they doing?_

"… we're in a library," the gruff voice of Knuckles was low and … seductive? "No talkin' allowed in a library, aye?"

Another giggle, albeit slightly high-pitched. "We'd have to make a supreme effort to keep quiet."

"At least we can say we gave it our best shot."

The conversation ended there. Instead, smacking noises, mewls and moans polluted the air, confusing the hidden Elf even more. Bravely, Lindir peeked from behind the shelf and gasped.

_What in the heavens …?!_

A horrific sight appeared before the shocked Elf: Freckles, _lying flat on the wooden surface of a reading table_ , his arms and legs wrapped around the neck and waist of Knuckles, who stood over him and was ferociously _kissing_ the living daylights out of the younger Dwarf. His metal-plated hands were wandering all over Freckles' body before it began to pull at the scribe's pants, roughly pulling it down to expose his knees …

The Dwarves barely heard the library doors slam shut as Lindir made his escape, trying to repress the strong urge to heave as he ran.

* * *

"Lindir, you look pale. In fact, you look positively green! Are you not well?"

"My lord Elrond," panted Lindir, swallowing the ugly taste in his mouth. "That scribe … and that bald Dwarf … they are acting … in an inappropriate manner!"

Lord Elrond raised an eyebrow. "My, but you sound out of breath. You ran all the way here to tell me this?"

His assistant emitted a frustrated groan. "My lord Elrond … they're committing … a _sexual_ act in the library! Kissing … and moaning … and _touching_ … ugh!"

Elrond raised the other eyebrow. "Really? They are?"

"They are, indeed!"

The raven-haired Elf pursed his lips in thought.

"Strange," he muttered, more to himself than to his assistant. "You'd think that the brother of the younger Dwarf would keep a more careful eye on those two."

Lindir gaped at him. "What?"

"Hmm, they're a lot sneakier than I thought," the Elf lord continued to mutter, walking away from a highly bemused and still slightly out of breath assistant who could only stare after him in shock.

_Am I going mad?_ he thought hopelessly to himself.

Needless to say, the library incident was never spoken of again – mostly because, after he tried many times to bring it up with Elrond, who seemed to care bugger-all about the subject, Lindir finally gave up.

Lindir could never look at the books in the library without wondering if any … _remnant_ of Freckles and Knuckles came into contact with them during their tryst.

* * *

Soon after came the incident on the balcony.

Now Knuckles' brother, referred to as "White" in Lindir's mind, seemed to be a decent sort. Distinguished, if you were that way inclined. Still, that beard was an untidy affair. The Elf, proudly clean-shaven, could not process having such a long beard as that. It would surely get in his way, and the Valar knows that dining and drinking would be near impossible – he cringed at the thought of a strand getting caught on a piece of food and then chewing on it. Honestly, what was the use of beards?

_At least he isn't hard to miss_ , Lindir thought.  _ White would be easy to identify if he were to go missing. _

"Master Elf?"

Lindir turned around, his skin paling instantly at the sight of Knuckles. The library incident was still fresh in his mind …

"What is it, Master Dwarf?" he said shakily, swallowing down the bitterness welling up in his throat.

"I wanted to know if you had seen my brother anywhere," the bald Dwarf replied. "It's nearly lunchtime, and I haven't seen him in an hour."

"No, I have not seen your brother," Lindir flatly replied. "Perhaps he has other businesses to attend to," he added, a little prudish than necessary.

"Well, if you do see him, tell him that we're all waitin' in the dinin'-room for him," Knuckles said, narrowing his eyes at the Elf before he walked away.

Tutting at the rude abruptness of the Dwarf's departure ( _without so much as_ _saying_ _"Good day"!_ ), Lindir went on his way. He thought of stopping by the balcony that overlooked the garden before going to lunch with Lord Elrond; Mithrandir would be joining them, he had been told. At least the Wizard, scruffy though he was, was a degree more delightful company than his Dwarvish (and Hobbit) charges.

The balcony was one of Lindir's favourite, frequented places in Rivendell. He liked to go there when he needed to calm his mind. This was _strongly_ the case now that he had these Dwarves to deal with.

_ And I certainly didn't need to be reminded of Freckles and Knuckles shamelessly violating the library. _

Shuddering at the mere image, the fair Elf hurried along the corridor that would lead him to the balcony.

He nearly reached his destination – it was just around the corner – when he heard the voices echoing from the balcony, forcing him to pause in his tracks. His stomach began to drop as he listened.

"– quite cold without my robe, Dori."

"That's payback for undoin' my braids, my dear Balin. Do you know how many hours it takes to braid my hair?"

The Elf recognised that voice. Goodness, he had heard it enough times to recognise it from a mile off. It belonged to Silver, the fussy, pretentious silver-haired Dwarf and the older brother of Freckles and that other Dwarf – whatever his name was. Many a time he overheard Silver constantly fussing over those two, telling them what to do and what _not_ to do. He also had a strange fixation with his overly elaborate braids. Personally, Lindir thought the Dwarf was trying too hard with his appearance, especially in the braiding area ( _after all, we Elves know a great deal about braiding_ ). But then, the Elf was not one to judge others.

"But I couldn't help myself. They looked so fun to pull at."

"Spoken like a true Dwarf who doesn't braid his hair at all. Hence, why I pulled your robe off."

 _**Nae! Nae!** _ Lindir was screaming inside.  _They're not …!_

"Oh, I'm sure that was your only intention, Dori." The voice, presumably of White, spoke in a very dry tone.

The other voice transformed into a sultry whisper. "Well, since the robe is off, I suppose we can do away with the other articles of clothing."

Lindir was appalled.

_Valar alive, not on the **balcony** …!_

White's voice, also quite sensual, interrupted his thoughts. "If you insist, _katagilemul habanuh_."

"Ah, _ûrzuduh ra  gimiluh _…"

Then followed the rustle of clothing intermingling with gasps and moans.

Unable to stand it any longer, Lindir stepped around the corner, and immediately wished that he had not.

Silver had White _pressed against the balcony railings_ , his mouth pressed firmly against the other's. The Dwarf's silver tresses, normally pinned up in their complicated braids, cascaded past his shoulders, practically bouncing as its owner's body moved in rhythm against the other Dwarf's body. His hair beads, along with White's scarlet robe and tunic, lay discarded at their feet. White was _naked from the waist up_ , save for his black gloves. Silver's hands roamed freely over the older Dwarf' shoulders and chest and basically every patch of bare skin he could find, until …

_ Oh gawd! _

… he finally settled on _raking his fingers through that long, white beard_ , tugging hard on its strands that made White moan louder and made Silver's tongue delve deeper.

Lindir ran away so fast, it was as if there was a pack of Wargs following close behind him.

* * *

Lord Elrond and Mithrandir almost had a start when Lindir bounded in, looking positively demented.

"Lindir, what on earth is the matter? You look like you're about to be sick. Which is a shame, really, as we have just begun to eat lunch."

"Does that mean I can help myself to his plate?" asked Mithrandir, unable to suppress a cheeky smile.

The Elf lord's assistant ignored this jibe, and addressed the raven-haired Dwarf in a shaken, breathless voice. "My lord Elrond … it's happening _again_ … two more of those Dwarves … _copulating_ on the balcony! …"

Elrond and Mithrandir sat up in their chairs in surprise.

"Who are they?" the Wizard asked.

"One has white hair … the other, silver …" panted Lindir, trying his best to regain his breath (and trying even more so to lose the scarring image that lingered in his mind).

Elrond and Mithrandir slowly glanced at each other.

Then, to Lindir's shock, _grins_ broke out on their faces.

"Well, they're certainly moving a lot faster than I thought," murmured Elrond, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a bag of coins. His assistant watched with dinner-plate eyes as his master passed the bag to their guest, saying, 'When it comes to these kinds of liaisons, they were last in my mind to initiate one so soon."

"My dear Elrond, if you had spent more time in their company as I have," proclaimed Mithrandir triumphantly, pocketing the coins, "you'll learn to pick up the signals at a quicker rate."

Lindir could not believe his ears. _Am I hearing this?_ Two of those ghastly Dwarves were presently doing a dirty deed on _his_ balcony, yet Elrond and Mithrandir were casually discussing the matter as if they were discussing the _weather_.

"My lord Elrond …!" he spluttered. "These Dwarves are committing a _vile_ action –!"

"Oh, do calm down, Lindir," Elrond abruptly cut him off. "There is nothing to be done. I cannot get my coins back."

"But – but –!"

"Do sit down, Lindir, otherwise your food will go cold," the raven-haired Elf ordered before turning his attention back to his Wizard friend. "Now, Gandalf, about Thorin's map …"

Too shocked beyond words, Lindir sat down and unconsciously began to eat, unaware that he was chewing on a strand of hair that came loose from his braids.

* * *

The garden incident was certainly the worst one thus far.

Despite the torment that Thorin Oakenshield's companions put Lindir through, despite his earnest attempts to avoid them at every possibility ( _especially_ Freckles, Knuckles, White and Silver), Lord Elrond nonetheless treated them respectfully, as it befitted his benevolent personality. He had yet to lift a strict hand, despite insofar the sexual exploits. If Lindir had his way, he would have put a stop to this nonsense a  _long_ time ago, but alas, he was forced to undergo the suffering.

The garden incident springs to mind almost immediately.

Among the Dwarvish company was a grey-haired Dwarf whom he mentally referred to as "Trumpet", because he, apparently deaf, always carried an ear trumpet. According to Lord Elrond, he was the healer of the group, not that this fact impressed his assistant in any way. Besides, Elves were far superior in the healing arts. But then, Trumpet himself was  _not_ impressed by this Elvish fact at all when  Lindir decided to inform him (the Elf honestly did not expect him to hear – after all, he was deaf, was he not?). The Dwarf, feisty and spirited and altogether sarcastic for his liking with a none-too-gentle manner, grumbled some colourful words that made the Elf blush to the tips of his ears.

Despite his behaviour, Trumpet was allowed to trudge about freely in Elrond's magnificent garden, picking herbs and flowers to make his below-par remedies fit only for his companions' use. The thought of all those prized plants being picked by Dwarvish fingers made Lindir feel sick – though not sick enough to seek Trumpet's aid, no thank you.

Sometimes another Dwarf, whom Lindir named "Badger" because of the white patch in his wild, black hair (he toyed with the name "Axe", simply because of the huge chunk of axe lodged in his forehead, but "Badger" seemed apt, given his overall …  _badger-looking_ appearance), would  accompany Trumpet on these excursions to the garden. Often when the Elf passed by, he could hear them communicating in that loud, harsh Dwarvish language, for it seemed to be the only language that the wild, equally feisty Badger could communicate in.

Sometimes, which aggravated Lindir to no end, Badger would pick flowers and _eat_ them.

_EAT THEM, of all things!_

He had told Elrond about this, but the Elf lord explained that the Dwarf was a vegetarian, so at least he was eating healthily.

Today, Lindir decided to take a stroll through the gardens to inspect the rose-beds, which were in full bloom. He was hoping that there would be no Dwarves there to disturb him, or worse, picking at the roses. Judging by the general quietness as he entered the garden, punctuated by the sound of the nearby waterfall, the Elf felt that his assumptions were correct: indeed, Trumpet and Badger were nowhere in sight nor could he hear any of that infernal Khuzdûl or whatever it was called.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Lindir walked around the corner of a hedge, wondering if he ought to pick a few roses for his chambers –

Lindir's stopped dead in his tracks, his jaw dropping to the ground.

_What. In. The. WORLD?!_

Badger's body _was strewn over_ that of Trumpet, whose grey hair had come loose from his braid. Their lips  were locked together, although occasional grunts and mewls and Khuzdûl words such as " _ghivashuh_ " escaped from their mouths. Badger's legs were on either side of Trumpet's body, and his hands were cupping his face, whilst Trumpet's arms were wrapped tightly around the other Dwarf's bucking hips.

And they were both _completely naked_.

_In the **rose-beds.**_

_They. Were. Naked. In. The. Rose. Beds!_

Badger and Trumpet broke apart with a start when they heard the scream. When they looked to the side, they saw only the flash of brown hair and a green-complexioned face.

* * *

"Lindir, I'm sensing a pattern here. You, bounding in, out of breath and looking as green as ivy."

"My lord Elrond," cried his assistant, determined not to let his breathlessness show (or his desire to retch overcome him). "Yet another two of Thorin Oakenshield's company are fornicating – I repeat, _fornicating!_ – in the garden as we speak! The deaf one and the one with the axe in his head are going at it! _In the rose-beds!_ "

"Well, roses _are_ symbolic of love –"

"My lord Elrond," Lindir huffed, beyond frustrated now. "They're _spoiling_ the rose-beds with their foolery! What do _you_ intend to do about it?"

The raven-haired Elf dipped his head in serious thought as his assistant, feeling that his message was finally sinking in, watched him with a hopeful expression.

Finally, Elrond looked up and gave his answer: "I intend to  _not_ tell  Óin's brother."

Lindir looked utterly deflated. "My lord –?"

"His brother will undoubtedly be displeased," the Elf lord murmured, "so I think it's best that we don't say anything."

Lindir groaned, almost in tears. "My lord …"

"Worry not, my friend," chirped Elrond, patting his despondent assistant's shoulder. "Just ask the gardener to plant some more roses, will you? Some yellow ones would look divine beside what's left of the other roses."

He walked away, leaving behind a very, very, very miserable Elf in his wake.

_Yellow roses will look unsuitable in my chambers._

* * *

The incident in the wine cellars just about drove Lindir over the brink of madness.

No longer daring to seek solace at his once-beloved balcony ( _not after what White and Silver did there_!), Lord  Elrond's assistant sought the company of long-stemmed glasses of wine in want of comfort. After all he had been through in the last few days, the fair Elf thought he deserved something to soothe his nerves.

And the best remedy, he felt, was fine wine.

And Lindir, considering himself a connoisseur of wine, settled for only the best-made wine in existence that Elves had to offer. Of course, he was not one to indulge himself willy-nilly on the stuff. He would do so when his duties for the day had come to an end. After supper, he would make his way to the kitchen and help himself to a single (yet strong) glass filled to the brim with dark-red wine, and then it was off to bed.

Normally, Lindir never conversed with the kitchen staff, unless the master of the kitchen spoke on their behalf about particular issues. Otherwise, the Elf lord's assistant kept mainly to himself and focused on nothing else but his glass.

One night, however, the master of the kitchen approached him in the middle of a sip.

"What is wrong?" Lindir asked.

The master of the kitchen pursed his lips. "Counsellor Lindir, my staff have told me that large quantities of food have gone missing from the pantry."

Lindir scoffed. "Of _course_ it's going missing. Those Dwarves are gobbling it all up," he said, sipping his wine.

"No, really, sir," the master of the kitchen stressed. "I do believe someone is helping themselves to whatever is lying in the pantry. The baker informed me that over a dozen muffins, half a pound of cake, three buns and an assortment of tartlets have been taken away last night. And that is just from the baked treats area! Savoury items, meats, vegetables, fruit … whatever is lying around, it is taken!"

Lindir was listening seriously now. Food? Stolen? From Lord Elrond's kitchen? Who would do such a thing?

_Hmm, I bet it_ _was_ _that_ _oversized_ _Dwarf._ _He is always constantly_ _stuffing his face as if the mere act of eating was going out of fashion. Or, maybe it was Silver's brother,_ _Magpie. I always noticed that his clothes look heavier when he leaves the dinner tabl_ _e, and the table always looks bare of its cutlery and_ _decorations. I would think those two would be the likely culprits behind this!_

To the master of the kitchen, Lindir said, "I shall tell Lord Elrond in due time. In the meantime, I shall look into the matter."

To emphasise his point, he swallowed the remains of the wine.

That night, Lindir sneaked into the dark kitchen. He was going to hide himself in the shadow-painted pantry, hoping to catch the food thief. He was of the opinion that, if the culprit was brazen enough to steal food in the first place without getting caught, he would likely try to do it again. And Lindir intended to catch that person in the act.

_ And then Lord Elrond will sort him out. That will show Thorin Oakenshield and company not to fool with me – that is, if the thief is a Dwarf. _

The fair Elf settled himself comfortably in the pantry, hidden behind a shelf packed with crates of carrots and tomatoes. He longed for another glass of wine to pass the time, but he did not want the contents of the wine to fog his mind whilst he was performing this crucial task. A single glass was strong enough on its own, but _two_ glasses would be akin to having your senses commit suicide.

Luckily for him, Lindir did not have to wait long. Soon, he heard the unmistakable stomps of Dwarvish footwear.

_Sounds like_ two _of them_.

A glimmer of candlelight appeared in his vision. At the opening of the pantry, Lindir could see, from his spot behind the shelf, the face of the Dwarf holding the candlestick – _a stolen one, no doubt!_ – illuminated from the flame's light. Braided eyebrows, a misshapen hairstyle, glinting eyeballs, a sinister smile … yes, it was the face of Magpie.

_I knew it!_

The sinister smile grew in size as its owner turned to the side to address his companion.

"S'alright, it's empty," he rumbled.

Then a familiar voice chirped up. "Ah good, I'm thirsty! Mind ye, I feel bad, though, havin' to tell Bombur off fer nickin' food from the pantry, and yet here we are, all ready to raid the wine cellars."

The voice, Lindir knew, belonged to none other than the Mad Hatter, the hat-wearing Dwarf who always wore a perpetual smile on his accursedly-happy face. Indeed, that happy face came into view with a sunny grin plastered across it. Lindir wished there was some way to smack it off.

Unfortunately for the Elf, it grew larger when Magpie _pressed his lips against his_.

_ Oh Valar above, please … not tonight … _

"C'mon, then, Bof, We'll 'ave a drink or three, and then we can cop back," Magpie said, and the other Dwarf nodded. In the Mad Hatter's hands were two tankards.

Lindir breathed a sigh of relief.

Then almost immediately, as the two Dwarves quickly retreated to the wine cellars, which stood next to the pantry, the Elf's stomach dropped immediately.

_They're planning to drink the wine …they will not able to hold it!_ _Two glasses of the stuff is potent enough f_ _o_ _r an Elf. Imagine what the effects would be if they used a whole TANKARD._ _They'll be drunk_ _er than the drunkest Dwarves in mere minutes,  _ _if not_ _**seconds** _ _!_

Before he could think any further, a cry of "Cheers!" and then the sounds of gulps and satisfied lip-smacks could be heard.

"Good stuff," commented Magpie. "Care fer some more?"

"Ooh, don't mind if I do!" the Mad Hatter cried.

Lindir's horror increased as another round of gulps and smacks could be heard.

"Anotherrr?"

"Pleeease."

Gulps. Smacks. _Sighs of pleasure._

"Oooh yessshh, very niiice," Magpie slurred.

"Mmmmm, so are yeeeoooo," the other Dwarf slurred. The sounds of tankards dropping to the ground, hard thumps on the floor and giggles resounded throughout the kitchen. "C'meerree …"

This was when Lindir stirred into action. The Elf ran out the pantry and into the wine cellar.

The Mad Hatter and Magpie were a tangle of limbs, with the star-shaped-haired Dwarf just about sitting in the other Dwarf's lap. Their mouths were _practically stuck together_ , pulling and nipping rather than kissing. Magpie's hands were practically _clawing_ at the Mad Hatter's tunic, whilst the hat-wearing Dwarf _pulled_ at his impossible hairstyle, just about breaking it apart. Their clothing was stained _dark-red_ from the wine. Their legs … well, their legs were just all over the place.

The Dwarves paused, sluggishly looking up at a horrified Lindir. Their beards were wet with wine, attaining a bloody colour.

Then the Mad Hatter smiled that twinkling smile.

"Wanta join ussshh?" he asked.

You probably know what happened next.

* * *

"Lindir, what is –"

"My lord Elrond. Dwarves. Doesn't matter who. Drinking our _wine_. Engaging in sexual intercourse in the _bloody_ kitchen. What are you going to do about that? Throw a celebration in their honour? Order more wine? Please enlighten me."

The raven-haired Elf stared in surprise at his assistant. Lindir, whose stomach ached dully from having to heave earlier, tiredly stared back.

Then, Elrond sighed.

"I guess this is not the right time to tell you that I had someone arrange a vase of yellow roses in your chambers. To cheer you up."

Lindir ran away, laughing and crying at the same time.

* * *

The last incident, Lindir will never forget.

When Lord Elrond's assistant came across Thorin Oakenshield and his company ready to depart one early morning, he had arrived in the middle of a minor tiff between the Dwarf leader and the Hobbit, the two arguing beings surrounded by their companions, who were ready and waiting to go.

"– do think we ought to wait for Gandalf, Thorin."

"We cannot wait any longer, Master Baggins. We cannot afford to lose any more time as Durin's Day bears down upon on us."

"I really think that we are being overhasty about the situation."

"Master Baggins, we are leaving. I have made up my mind."

"But Thorin –"

"There's nothing you can do or say to change my mind."

"What mind?"

"Watch your tongue, burglar."

"I'll have you know, Thorin Oakenshield, that I –"

" _Oh, why don't you just kiss each other already!_ " Lindir growled loudly.

Thorin, the Hobbit and the entire company swivelled around, looking in pure, silent astonishment at the Elf, who looked completely and utterly shocked. His skin suddenly turned red, to the point that he could feel even his ears burning in red-hot embarrassment.

"I, uh … I … um … that is to say, uhh …" he spluttered, unable to find the right words, his face glowing even brighter.

The long silence that followed was certainly unnerving. And awkward.

"Um, Mister Lindir," Freckles ventured to speak up. "Are you feeling alright? I've noticed _you've_ been acting rather odd in the last couple of days or so."

Lindir spluttered even more.

"Uh, hmm … er, well … uh …"

Another silence.

The Company exchanged glances with each other, their faces also flushing various shades of red.

Finally, the Hobbit, clearing his throat, faced Thorin, albeit with bright pink cheeks, and said, in a strangled voice, "Erm, well, Thorin, I'm all ready to go when you are."

Thorin snapped to attention. "Er, yes, quite right, Master Baggins," he mumbled.

To the Company, he barked, "Alright, let us be on our way. We have a long day ahead of us once we enter the wild."

The Company murmured their agreement. Gathering their supplies and weapons, they began the first steps of the next leg of their journey. They quietly filed past a still-blushing-for-Middle-Earth Lindir, who was wishing he could disappear at that moment as they all gave him pitying looks. Even Badger, he with the axe in his head, could only shake his head at him.

As the Dwarves and the Hobbit were nearly out of range, the Elf overheard the beardless Dwarf say to his brother, "You know, Fíli, I shall never understand Elves. Strange, eccentric lot, and just altogether … _Elvish_ , if you know what I mean."

"Perhaps their beauty makes up for it."

And then they were gone.

Lindir stood there for a few minutes, trying his best not to howl in frustration at his own stupid actions.

_Disgraceful! Shameful! Utterly foolish! How could I have acted in such a way? That was so unlike me! I don't believe I will ever let this down, so long as I live!_

But it is rather fortunate that the Elf's prized possession, his "pedantic-ness", took over his frame once more, clearing his mind, helping him process what had just occurred a few minutes ago.

Breathing in sharply, Lindir made a dash for the White Council, where he interrupted the proceedings. The Elf turned to Lord Elrond, who silently awaited him to speak, and said:

"My lord Elrond. The Dwarves … they're _gone_."

And yet for the life of him, Lindir did not know what he or Elrond could do about it.

**Author's Note:**

> Nae! Nae! - No! No!  
> Katagilemul habanuh - My sparkling gem.  
> Urzuduh ra gimiluh - My sun and stars.  
> Ghivashuh - My treasured one.
> 
> A part of me wants to hug Lindir, and another just wants to kick him. I had fun tormenting him, yet I also felt terrible. What do you guys think? Do you want to hug or kick Lindir? Let me know, along with your fave/hate moments, in the comments below! I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> *~AI07~* ;)


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